The Boy Who Could Not Die
by Dalxein
Summary: Death enjoys its continued existence. As the life of one small child whose fate could hold the key to saving all life on earth- and thus Death's reason to be- flickers and wanes, it decides to act. The boy will not be allowed to fail. The boy will not be allowed to die.
1. Choice, or Lack Thereof

Howdy. To any returning readers of mine, I'm sorry I haven't been writing. Just haven't been able to manage it. This is another one of my seemingly futile attempts at keeping up my writing skills so that I might actually be able to manage, should I actually find the drive to tackle re-writing my old stuff so that I can stand to continue it.

This is posted on a fanfiction site. Disclaimers should, obviously, be superfluous and irrelevant.

Writing this partly because I just can't stomach all the stories where death, or fate, or some other deity just hands Harry some edge, or a second chance, simply out of the goodness of their hearts, or because they feel obligated to help enforce a prophecy _they probably helped instigate in the first place_. Just feels stupid to me. If anyone else wants to use this prologue as inspiration for their own sort of story, feel free. Kind of debating using a similar start for a time-travel fic now… choices. DX

EDIT: It's come to my attention that it might not be obvious, but Death's manner of speech is entirely deliberate on my part. Keep that in mind, and I'll elaborate in the footnotes.

* * *

The Boy Who Could Not Die

* * *

He felt cold.

Futilely trying once more to bundle further into what little passed for blankets and coverings in his little cupboard, there was little else on his mind besides how much he wished he could feel warm again.

The Dursleys were off on some holiday in a warmer clime than winter England, claiming they'd be back for Christmas. At this point, Harry wasn't sure how long they'd been gone. It took too much energy to think. Energy better spent wishing he were warm.

Finally, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

His eyes snapped open, the change from one darkness to another indecipherable as he looked around, desperately trying to find some hint of where he was. He still felt cold, but it wasn't the limb-biting, hot needle cold that'd seeped up from the poor, cheaper insulation under the unlivable areas of the house. This was a primal chill that soaked deeper than bone. Honestly, now that he thought about it, he could barely feel his extremities at all. He spun, trying to see anything at all, swinging his arms about, stomping his feet into the soundless almost-solid beneath him. It took him a moment to realize what felt off. It was like he wasn't moving through air. Without resistance, his skin barely _felt_ , and he desperately clung to himself just to feel anything at all. There was no sense of proper temperature in him, but he chalked that up to the cold in his haste to find that he could feel at all. He huddled himself down into the… ground? It didn't feel as hard as metal, but it wasn't right for wood or dirt, either.

Oh well, he'd figure out what it was as soon as he found some light. He glanced up again, and shrieked.

Hovering perfectly still ahead of him was an enormous red iris. The eye looked alien without any white, and any pupil was just as dark as the rest of the world surrounding them.

" ** _you._** " The whispered voice boomed in his mind, instantly silencing him. He shuddered as he felt the word slowly cease rattling his bones. " ** _you are the one who can kill me, through your inaction._** "

"I…" Harry started, trying desperately to reign in his terror. "I don't understand. Who are you? Where am I?" He plead, voice cracking with fear.

" ** _i am the being your kind might refer to as 'death'._** " The whisper replied, its voice still crashing down around him like a mountain dropped from the sky. " ** _this place is also 'death'. you are here because i killed you, and will not let you pass on._** _"_

"You killed me!?" Harry yelled, losing his tenuous grip on his fear. "I don't… why would you… how did…" his pleading quickly devolved into gibbering.

" ** _silence._** " And with that one word, Harry and the world around him stilled once more. " ** _you are dead because i prevented your power from saving you. you are here because i intend to send you back._** "

It took Harry what seemed an eternity to regain his voice. "You're sending me back?" He seemed to _feel_ an affirmative notion from the abyss. "Why am I here? And what… power are you talking about?"

" ** _you are the fated enemy of a man who could kill the world. he has taken steps to make himself undying, and it is a waste of my limited power over the material world to end his mortal body in repetition only to delay the inevitable._** " Most of that went right over Harry's eight year old mind, but the part about 'fated enemies' stuck. " ** _your power is known to your kind as 'magic'. it sustains and empowers you beyond what is normally possible in the material plane. your power is insufficient to guarantee his destruction, and your free will enables you the choice of inaction. i intend to remedy this by removing it._** "

The terror was back, now. "You're taking away my free will?" He whimpered.

" ** _your illusions of free will are not my concern. you still retain choice, and i cannot allow inaction._** " The voice paused, seemingly more for Harry's benefit, as if the statements were meant to calm the child. " ** _to fight this man is to risk death. to run and hide is to flee an inevitable death. to choose to die instead of either will result in death. remove the option of death, and the only choices that remain are to fight and win, or fight and suffer death repeatedly until victory is achieved. i will remove your ability to die._** "

That actually put a small smile on the boy's face. "So I'll live forever?"

" ** _you will be unable to die until the end of your natural lifespan, which I can extend considerably in the event that you fail._** " The smile faltered.

Harry curled in on himself for a moment, before he raised his head to once more meet the unblinking crimson stare. "Why does it have to be me? Why am I the one he's after?"

" ** _the man has convinced himself that you are the greatest threat to his existence. he is not incorrect. you must destroy the anchors binding his soul to the material plane, and end him._** " Harry nodded, and with a start realized it was because he felt dizzy. " ** _you will return to your body now._** "

"Wait!" Harry jumped to his feet, steadying himself through his lightheadedness. "Why? Why all this? Why do any of this?"

" ** _humans are such frail, weak, transient things._** " Harry tried to blink the lights from his eyes. " ** _your kind do not even know your greatest strength._** " He was sure now, there were dozens if not hundreds of red eyes just like the first all around him, simply deeper into the now lightening abyss. " ** _you scream and tremble before nothing, and in doing so give it power. you give it thought, and voice, and mind, because you know it must be there. and when humanity dies, so too do their creations._** "

For a single, brief moment, Harry thought he saw white. He saw people. Saw them smiling, scowling, laughing… all of them watching him. The flicker was gone, and the haze kept growing, the spots blotting out the eyes.

" ** _i refuse to die, harry james potter._** "

* * *

He sucked in a breath, tossing aside his meager coverings as he jerked upright. That dream was… was it even a dream? He could still remember it vividly, so unlike any dream before it. He huddled up, sniffling as he shivered. He just wanted to be warm.

And then he was.

He blinked, startled. Was this that power he was told about? He didn't understand, but…

Placing his hand upon the cupboard's door, he wished very dearly that he could leave, to eat and drink again. With a thump and a clack, the door slowly creaked open to reveal the lock sitting undone on the floor nearby. He'd done it!

The boy rushed from his den, eager to drink his fill and scrape together some meager meal from whatever might not be missed- perishables no doubt to go bad before the Dursleys returned if they hadn't already being the lion's share of his meal. He couldn't stop the tears that welled up.

He was alive! He had warmth and food and water. For the moment, that was all he needed.

He was alive.

* * *

Prologue End

* * *

Well, there's your prologue. Hope you liked it.

Just didn't sit well for me that so few of those stories where some higher power steps in ever have a real _reason_ for them to do so besides 'oh we just felt so bad for you' or 'fate demands it' or some other bullshit where the powers at work don't _get anything from it_. Just shreds my suspension of disbelief.

So here you have eldritch metal death, who basically says 'if humans die, so do I, so fuck that' and makes it so Harry has to choose between winning and risking several hundred years of being repeatedly tortured to death.

All flowers and rainbows, my stories.

Anyway, hope you liked it, and if you want to use this fic as inspiration, feel free. I want to read more good fics as much as anyone here, and this seemed the best way to start that happening. Next chapter should see a return to my 'never post any chapter less than 4000 words long' rule, and cover pre-hogwarts. Then we get into the fun things.

EDIT: Promised elaboration. When writing this, I imagined Death enveloping Harry's soul, and whispering to try not to accidentally blow out the small, flickering candle that was Harry's soul. The lack of caps was intentional, it makes it seem alien, wrong, and also emphasizes that Death is trying not to enunciate or speak too loudly, which is often symbolized with capitalization. If small caps were an option, I'd use that.


	2. Diagon, Part 1: Happy Birthday

A reviewer with replies disabled (unintelligible frustrated grumbling) asked a very good question. "Why is this listed as a romance story?"

The simple answer is that I _intend_ for it to be so, starting around second year. I've a good idea for at least the main pairing, but I also kinda want to make it a harry/multi fic, but only if I can build the relationships up believably. Lemme know what you think regarding pairings in reviews.

Anyway, I wasn't sure what I should list the fic as, so I figured I'd futureproof it. I thought about labeling it 'horror' but it's more graphic than horrific from here on out, but I'm not an expert on it. Decided that 'hurt/comfort' was a good first genre, considering some of what I have planned, and how this chapter turned out. If anyone has any suggestions regarding what I should list the fic as now, or as the story progresses, feel free to let me know. Hell, any feedback is great.

* * *

Pre Hogwarts chapter time.

* * *

 _Gobbets of flesh and shards of bone skittered across the floor, as blood flowed alongside them, coalescing back whence they came. Organs knit back together. Entrails reorganized themselves. Bones cracked as they realigned and became whole. Cranium re-inflated as skull patched itself back together and sucked up its prior contents. After a moment, the hand twitched and mouth groaned. Leaning up, the boy rested the hand upon his head. With a sharp tilt, his neck cracked as he made sure the vertebrae had aligned themselves properly when they'd reformed._

 _"Well," Harry muttered as he glanced toward where the troll had left, likely chasing after the students who'd already ran. "That could've gone better."_

* * *

It was only a few days later that the Dursleys returned from holiday. Harry had made good use of the time- showering, cleaning the house, organizing his few things, eating… He'd tried to make his magic work on command again, but after that first day it didn't seem to work. He suspected it might've had something to do with that not-dream and his… death. Still hard to think about, but if he'd had his power taken away, maybe it'd gotten bunched up while it was gone, and he just had a lot more than usual right after he'd gotten it back? It made the most sense to him.

"Uncle Vernon!" He yelled, as the man stepped through the door with an armful of luggage.

He knew he'd never be able to make it look like he'd still been locked in his cupboard. Not when he couldn't make his magic work to pop it back on while he was inside. The best he could do was to try and make it look like a good thing that he'd gotten out.

The man's reddening face was worrying, though. "I cleaned the house! Kept everything neat and tidy. No dust at all!" Harry said, his face smiling but his eyes pleading.

"Why aren't you in your cupboard?" The man rumbled.

The boy's smile faltered. "The… the lock fell off. I don't know how." He lied.

Suitcases were hastily set aside as Vernon strode forward. "Just more of your freakishness, then." He grabbed Harry by the arm to drag him along, too. "I triple-checked that lock before we left. Had to be!" When they'd made it to the cupboard, the door was opened and Harry flung inside. "So _stay_ there, since you couldn't do as you're told!"

Harry bit back a whimper of pain as the door was slammed and the lock set again. That'd been rather more forceful than he'd expected. With a hiss, he checked his arm. He couldn't move his fingers, and the shoulder and arm hurt terribly. It had to be broken.

He couldn't stop the small cry as the arm twitched outside his control, the bones realigning inside his flesh. A moment later the arm jerked as it resocketed itself into his dislocated shoulder.

It hadn't hurt as much as the breaking, but it was still incredibly unpleasant. With a tentative clench of his formerly unresponsive hand, he began examining the arm. It seemed perfectly fine. Holding it up, he looked at it in the dim light from the gap between door and frame. Was this what Death meant? Would this… would his body still fix itself even if he died?

* * *

Several days later, his Aunt finally unlocked the door. Apparently he'd missed Christmas- not that he got to celebrate it anyway- and he was to clean the house again before a small party for new year's with the neighbors. Likely so they could gloat over their trip, Harry surmised. Still, it was good to be free of his cupboard again, even if he might be stuck there for the party itself.

He didn't fret too badly. It wasn't long now before classes started again, and they couldn't keep him locked up if he was to be heading to school.

Whenever he was sure the Dursleys weren't watching, he tried to make his power work again. He had to have some way to defend himself if anyone found out he couldn't _stay_ hurt… they'd just keep hurting him, then. Uncle Vernon was usually careful not to leave marks where they wouldn't show, but now the marks wouldn't stay. It was frustratingly slow, and only the proof that came with his inability to die kept him going. He _had_ the power. He knew it, he just had to figure out how to make it work again.

* * *

Classes were boring. He was never allowed to do better than Dudley anyway, so why bother trying? What he _really_ wanted to know about was magic. Whenever he got the chance, he'd go to the school library and sit with the matronly librarian, either digesting more fantasy books, or asking her suggestions for additional reading material.

He was quick to let her know that the reason he never checked anything out was because his relatives hated anything magic related, even just fictional stories, and thought his interest made him some kind of tiny cultist or something.

After watching the boy for months as he struggled to bring his reading level up to read works of increasing complexity, she chose to help nurture his love of learning as well as she could- this _was_ a school after all- and would make trips to the city libraries to request some of their titles for the boy. Until returned, she kept them safe in the library under the auspice of reference works- essentially meaning that you could ask to see them, but only if you knew they were available.

The year continued as such. Chores, boredom and belittlement sprinkled through with forays into bring and shining worlds, dark forests and darker towers, of princesses and dragons, and best of all- magic.

Though he couldn't learn spells from the books- if it were that easy, someone else would've done it by now- the ideas therein did give him new ways to think about the problem. New avenues through which to approach it. He started learning basic meditation, and tried to pass some of the boredom in class and locked away, even during the tedium of chores, to focus on other problems.

The day he made one of the pebbles he practiced on float was one of the happiest of his young life.

* * *

"Boy, go get the post!" His uncle shouted.

Harry nodded, mumbled an acquiescence, and once out of sight, began grumbling about how he couldn't wait to be shot of them. Just seven more years…

He went, got the mail, and in his boredom as he walked back to the house, began to shuffle through it. Usually nothing interesting in there, just bills or adverts, the occasional holiday card or letter from some distant relation he'd never met.

He froze when he saw one of the letters was addressed to him.

Did anyone even know he lived there? Obviously they did… it was addressed to his fucking _cupboard_. That… couldn't be right. It had to be some sort of prank or joke, or…

He shook away the thoughts, headed back to the door, made sure he was out of sight of the windows, and tucked the letter into the belt-tightened band of his baggy pants.

"What took so long?" The man asked, once he was back inside.

Harry set the pile, sans _his_ letter, beside the man's breakfast plate. "Had to stop to wave at Ms Figg, keep up good impressions." He half-muttered. The man scoffed, and went back to his food.

So far, he was good…

* * *

It wasn't until later, after his Aunt finally stopped hounding him around the garden and found something _better_ to do with her time, that he got the chance to open the letter. He could've done so in his cupboard, but it didn't have enough light to read by.

After quickly scanning the contents, boggling, scanning them more seriously, and honestly considering if this might be some elaborate prank, he decided to sink into the dirt in despair.

 _I don't have a bloody owl!_ Who the hell has a bloody _owl!?_

He sniffed for a bit, wiped some of the grime from his face, and steeled himself. This just meant plan A was still in effect. Keep his powers and secrets safe long enough to be shot of the Dursleys, then go find something, _anything,_ he could use as an edge against the enemy he knew must be coming.

* * *

A week later, a loud knock rang out from the door.

Grumbling, Vernon got up from his seat, stowed his newspaper, and walked to the door. "Whatever you're selling, we're not-" He stopped as he got a look at the massive man in front of his door.

"Hullo." greeted the jovial mass of beard and coat. "You must be Mr Dursley. I'm here to see Harry, if ya don't mind."

The smaller man's face began to redden. "Of course I mind! Your lot has no business here, so off with you!" He tried to shut the door, but a massive hand stopped it.

"No business?" He asked, incredulously. "Of course we have business! That's Harry Potter you've got, and I'm to see if he wants to go to Hogwarts!"

Straining to shut the door, not seeming to budge the man's arm much at all, Vernon began shouting. "We'll have none of your freakishness here! We took the boy in, kept him _safe_ , on the condition _your_ lot stay away!"

The half-giant reared back as if struck. He took in a deep breath to begin a bellow of his own, when a tiny voice spoke out.

"You knew?"

Vernon turned, and the glare on the boy was enough to shake him for a moment. "Back to your _room_ , boy."

The absurdity of trying to keep up appearances at a time like this almost made him laugh. When he'd come to see what all the shouting was about, he'd no idea it actually involved him. But now? "You knew, and never told me? What else have you been keeping from me? What else could you _possibly_ do to me!?" Harry was frantic, now. His breathing heavy, his head dizzy as the world spun, he felt almost as if he were going to throw up.

"Do as you're _told_ , boy!" Vernon roared.

With a sweeping push of his arms, Harry roared right back. The force of his magic barreled into the fat man, knocking him through the door and into the half-giant behind him. Both of them kept going until Vernon landed on the sidewalk, and Hagrid bounced and rolled almost across the street.

He stormed out, taking a moment to observe his groaning uncle lying in the shattered bits of what was once a door. Well that was just great. There was no way he'd be able to stay now. The lashing he'd get from this would last the whole day at least, and even _Vernon_ would notice his wounds fixing themselves by then. A quick glance at the larger man showed he was curled up, nursing a bruised head.

And there went his ticket to magic, _again_. No doubt the man wouldn't help him, now that Harry had hurt him along with his Uncle. Just like they'd always told the neighbors about him- he was just the picture perfect violent miscreant now. Bludgeoning innocent folk with not so innocent folk.

He couldn't stop the tears, and sniffled as he turned and ran.

He had to get away from here.

Harry was already at the end of the street when he heard his name being shouted behind him. It was the large man he didn't know. Could he really still want to talk to him? What was even going on? What made _him_ so important to be chased after? He already had a madman after him, now _this_ man was after him, too?

The glare he leveled at the other wizard when he turned stopped the man cold. Leaned over as he was and trying to pull air back into his winded lungs, Hagrid raised a hand, trying to show he wasn't armed.

"It's alright, Harry. I won't hurt yeh." He started. He stared at the boy, so much like James, with Lily's passionate eyes glaring fire and hate into his own, and the large tracks of tears winding their way down his cheeks. "My name is Hagrid. They sent me out when we realized yeh might not have an owl to reply with, if the Dursleys were livin' full Muggle. I'm keeper of the keys and grounds at Hogwarts."

The eyes softened a little, and after a moment, the boy wiped away what he could of the tears. He stood himself up tall, took a breath, and said "I'm not going back." Hagrid blinked in confusion, and Harry elaborated. "To the Dursleys. I'm not going to go back there. I can't."

Realization dawned on the man, who glanced back to where Vernon was now rolling in pain, his wife and a couple of neighbors huddled around him. Turning back to the boy, he replied "I won't take you back there, Harry. If anyone tries, it won't be me, and I'll try to convince 'em otherwise. Whaddya' say?" He held out his enormous hand to the small child, who eyed it warily for a moment.

Finally taking the large hand, or rather placing his own tiny one within its grasp, Harry nodded. "Alright, Hagrid. Where do we go now, though?" There was a mix of shouting coming their way from the huddle, though no one particularly wanted to get close to the massive Hagrid.

After a moment of pondering, the large man nodded. "We'll head to Diagon. Get you set up somewhere safe, and even do your school shopping if you feel up for it."

Harry grimaced. "I don't have my list, though."

With a grin, Hagrid patted around at the pockets of his massive coat. "Sent me with a spare letter, just in case, they did. Just… Oh, I'll find it later." He gave up in favor of shepherding Harry off towards the city proper.

"By the way…" The man said, after about half a block. "Happy Birthday, Harry."

Harry smiled, and with a sniffle he wasn't sure the source of, wiped his eyes again and nodded.

"Thanks, Hagrid."

* * *

Still trying to figure out a new margins thing. Diagon Pt:1, end.

* * *

I've decided to break my chapter length rules again for a few reasons- because this is a good place to stop, Diagon is next, and already shaping up to be a doozy, and I wanted to beef up the word length on the fic to attract more readers.

Anyway, going to be good to hear feedback from everyone.

Current most likely pairings are Harry/Daphne, Harry/Luna, or some flavor of Harry/multi. Probably not going to be an issue until second or third year, though.


End file.
